Oh. Well, shit. I fix the error. “You didn’t come here to tell me where to put my ice cream.”
“No, but aren’t you glad I did?”
I pause, but then opt out of answering him because I’m not sure what he’s asking me. Is it really just about the ice cream, or is he asking if I’m happy to see him? Maybe it’s not that deep. Maybe he is talking about the ice cream.
Since I have two more cartons, I pitch those into the freezer and slam the door, then move to the wine, but pause again. It might not be the best idea to be handling glass right now. I stomp out of the kitchen to confront him.
Hands on my hips, I walk up to him and instantly regret it, because now I can smell his cologne. It’s spicy and strong, reminding me of how hard he fucked me all night long. He broke my headboard that night, you know.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Declan narrows his eyes. “I cannot believe you’re asking me that.”
“Oh… That’s rich. You say you hate Selnoa, and then you come back to buy a house here so you can live in it with your new fiancée, and all those fucking people who came to my salon are getting ready to attend your engagement party. And here you are, in my apartment. What do you want, hm? A blessing? A fuck before you commit to someone else? Assurance that I wasn’t the right one? Sure, I can give you that. I’m neverthe one. Nobody stays for me. Not my mom, not my ex, and not you.”
Declan’s jaw works. I can tell he’s angry, but he’s safe for me to argue with. His control only slips when we fuck, and there will be none of that, even if that is the reason he’s here.
“You told me you wanted time,” he reminds me.
“I know what I did!” I shout.
Declan steps back. “What day is today?”
“Saturday. And?”
“And what date is it?”
I tell him the way a calculus student answers a simple algebra question, with one hundred percent certainty.
Declan stares.
I stare back. Is it a contest? I’m going to win. I am. I will not blink.
“You forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
Declan walks over to stand by the window and runs a hand through his hair.
“What? What did I forget?” I am forgetful because I’m not very organized. I’m better organized now than I was a few years back, but there’s only so much I can do with my personality. I like spontaneity.
Declan turns back around. I don’t know how to read his expression. Is he uncertain? Not this man. This man is always certain of pretty much everything. This is the man who executed his father, hid in my house, got out alive when every cop and criminal in the city looked for him, got me out of jail and a hostile hospital, and now he’s taking over his father’s criminal throne.
“I told you that you had one year. It’s one year today.”
“I didn’t forget,” I tell him.
“Then why aren’t you ready?”
Okay, maybe I did forget. “Ready for what?”
“Our engagement party.”
I blink. Twice. “You said I had one year.”
“Exactly.”
“I presumed you meant you would be back in a year and we would date.”
